What She Carries
by AllusionToAnIllusion
Summary: Whether it's a burden or a privilege, she remembers it all.  Warning: This is some pretty dark stuff.


**I know, I know, I have two stories that need updating but I'm writing this. Sorry to all of you who are following my other stuff but I needed to write something that wasn't constrained by a predetermined plot. And this is what came of that need.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing. Wish I did own it, then I'd have a say in a certain relationship, but we can't all have what we want. **

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She remembers it all, she's sure she always will. Little details that she didn't notice before are now constantly part of her train of thought. They say that memories fade with time, but that's never been true for her. She's always had to live with the pain, what she'll never forget has brought an ache to her heart that will never fade. For it to fade the memories would have to as well, and that pain will never leave her. To cope with that she remembers the happy things, knowing that if those moments become hazy she'll lose herself. That constant ache would claim her and her mind consumed by it until there was nothing left of her but that never ending pain. So she remembers it all, the good and the bad swirl through her head daily so she'll never forget. It's both a privilege and a burden, remembering all that happened.

Some things provoke the memories; trigger a flashback to when the ache was beginning to dull. One of these things is something she encounters everyday, multiple times a day, coffee. She remembers how when he arrived each morning the scent of her favorite beverage would mix with his cologne to form a fix much better than caffeine alone. Looking up at him they'd share a glance, an unspoken thank you that meant so much more. Even though she was independent and would under no circumstances let someone do something for her this was in some way different. She had let him takeover one of her most incessant needs, giving him permission to, in some ways, take care of her. It reminded her everyday that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to do everything for herself. She could accept help. As she took the cup from him each morning their fingers would brush against each other and she remembers the electricity that would pass through their hands, leaving her fingers tingling for minutes.

Central Park is a contradiction for her now, filled with so many wonderful memories, but memories that make her remember the loss. Each time she walks through it her heart screams at her to stop it, stop the torture she's inflicting upon herself. But she can't make herself leave; she can't let herself forget. So whenever she feels like she can't remember she goes there and it all comes rushing back to her. Time goes backwards and it's like nothing ever happened, it's like he's still there with her and she can change their ending. They'd walked hand in hand through that park a countless amount of times. It had all started with that one Friday night, a night where she remembers she was happier than she'd been in years. It was a night that started a new chapter in her life, the night where she'd finally given in and granted him a date. It became a weekly tradition; Friday night walks through the park. So many things had happened there that she would never allow herself to forget even if that was possible.

Some things were so simple in their design but meant so much more to them than most of their other shared memories. Now, they were only her memories. Nobody else knew of these secret moments that were only ever meant for them. They were a shared comfort, something that always helped them through rough times. But now they could only help her, now she was the only one who would ever remember them. They'd lie in his bed doing nothing more than talking. Her head would be pressed against his chest while his rested on her hair, their legs entwined beneath the covers as his arms curled around her body and hers did the same to him. They'd just talk, about anything and everything. Nothing else mattered in those moments but the other person on the bed with them. Through the window they could both hear the chaos of the world they lived in, but neither acknowledged it or cared. In those moments, it was all about them. They may have lived in a world filled with misery, heartache and disaster but for a while they could both just forget about that and focus on the person in their arms. Of course, later they would have to face reality; they would have to remember.

If there is one thing she will never forget it's holding him while he breathed some of his last breathes. Cradling his weakening body in her arms she kissed him passionately and with everything she had, not caring that about fifteen cops were currently watching her sob. She remembers whispering that she loved him over and over again as he said the same to her. Lights from cop cars were flashing all around them but she only saw him, that's all she cared about. In those moments she didn't care if she seemed weak, if she looked feminine to her colleagues, she openly wept as he was loaded into the ambulance with her not far behind. She grasped his hand the entire way while he toyed with the rings on her finger. The rings she still can't bear to take off; the ones that will probably remain on her finger until it's her time too. Her eyes never left his the entire ride to the hospital, even if by the time they arrived there his were lifeless.

But that wasn't the end to the day where her healing heart was shattered permanently. After arriving home passed midnight she had done nothing but cry in his office, in his chair. Sometimes she swore she could feel his arms snaking around her waist and the feel of his lap below her legs, but when she looked back to check there was nobody there. There never would be again. She sobbed well into the morning and when the sun was beginning to creep beyond the horizon she heard a small sound from the doorway. As she wiped her swollen, red eyes to hide the evidence of her tears a small boy with piercing blue eyes walked through the door. She almost lost it again at the sight of those eyes, the eyes that her son had undoubtedly inherited from his father. The father he would never see again.

"Momma?" He had hesitantly asked, she could tell he was taken aback at her appearance. Puffy eyes, cheeks damp from crying while she curled her body into the chair. This was not how his mother normally looked.

"Yes, honey?" It had taken her a few minutes to compile this simple sentence, and even so her voice had cracked.

"Daddy's not coming home, is he?" That's when the tears slowly started to flow from her eyes yet again but she barely even noticed; she had grown too used to them.

"No, he's not." What was left of her small family hugged each other for hours, she attempting to soothe the boy's cries while she wept too. In those moments she wasn't sure if they could get passed this, she almost wished she could forget. Almost. The man she still loved, the father of her shaking son, was far too much a part of her to forget.

What creates the biggest hole in her soul is what she will never remember. Moments that won't have the chance to become memories because he was taken too soon. They had promised each other so much, multiple children running around the loft that she never thought she would consider theirs, happiness forevermore and a life together until they were both old and covered in wrinkles. Now that had all been taken away. She yearns for new memories, ones to cancel out the most recent. Ones that would make them lies, just a terrible dream. She knows they will never come, but she still hopes. Every night when she goes to sleep her mind tries to make new memories, ones full of promises that he will not be able to keep when morning comes. Each morning when she awakes and the realization that he isn't really there with her hits her again the hurt inside of her chest grows just a little bit more. There are moments when it dulls again, quality time with her son, a night out with her precinct family and the monthly shopping trips with Alexis and Martha. But each night when she ends up in that bed, a bed that will always be theirs, alone the pain comes back at full force. Tears permanently stain her pillow because she remembers, everyplace she looks she sees something that triggers yet another flashback. But it's not always so bad, because sometimes when she's all alone she can pretend he's there. And sometimes, she almost believes that he really is. Remembering is excruciatingly painful but she knows that forgetting would be harder because it means that he wasn't there at all, and that would be far worse.

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